Hey Hey Hallelujah
by whimsycality
Summary: Clary's at the first party of the school year and already regretting her life choices, until a mystery girl's kiss makes everything better.
1. Chapter 1

Clary almost hadn't come to this party explicitly because Brian might be there. But Simon had begged, and told her there's no way her ex would show his face, and she'd given in. Best friends for life meant making sacrifices sometimes.

So of course the very first person she sees after Simon abandons her to flirt with Maureen and Raphael is Brian, with his stupid smug smile, touching some girl's face and probably giving her the same line about how "perfectly symmetrical" her cheekbones are, and "won't she please let him draw her." She's torn between conflicting urges to punch that smile off his face or leave, when he and the girl start to turn in her direction and she realizes she's standing in front of the drinks table.

"Shit!" she spins and almost knocks someone over. For a moment she is stupefied by large dark eyes, full pouting lips, and a leather bustier that wouldn't look out of place on that basically soft porn lesbian fantasy series she watches when her roommate's gone.

"You okay?" the girl asks, clearly amused, and Clary shakes her head.

"My ex is here, with someone else." The girl's smile turns sympathetic and Clary, bolstered by fear and intense attraction, speaks before she can overthink it. "Make out with me?" She darts a glance over her shoulder and sees Brian frowning in her direction, then turns back to the far more appealing sight of the gorgeous stranger still holding her arm. "Please?"

The girl looks at her for a breathless moment, a silent evaluation Clary hopes she measures up to, then those vivid red lips are curling into a smirk and Clary basically forgets that Brian exists. "I am a sucker for a damsel in distress."

Clary wants to protest that description, however accurate it might be, but then those lips are on hers, warm and soft and perfect, and Clary no longer has any desire to argue with her new favorite person in the world. The girl lets go of Clary's arm, curving one hand around Clary's hip and sliding the other into her hair. Clary moans into her mouth, eagerly pressing closer. It's the best kiss she's had, maybe ever, and she doesn't want it to end.

The girl has long, silky, black curls, and Clary tangles her hands in them, already addicted to the feel of her soft curves and the supple leather encasing them. She definitely owes Simon for talking her into coming to this party. When they finally pull apart, breathless, Clary has forgotten that this is supposed to be a distraction and just wants to get the girl's name, number, and possibly her hand in marriage. Or at least a facebook relationship claim.

The other girl grins at her, her hand dropping out of Clary's hair to pinch her ass. "That was fun, Cinnamon, but I've got a prior engagement to get to. See you around!" Then she's gone, and Clary's left staring, one hand reaching up to touch her still tingling mouth. Okay, no. That is unacceptable. She refuses to let that be her only encounter with her new favorite person. She turns, glad to see Brian has disappeared, and forges into the crowd to find Simon. Someone has to know who she is.

But no one does, or at least no one's talking, and Clary is a frustrated mess when she storms into the first day of her Principles of Biology class just as the Professor starts talking.

She flashes the woman an apologetic smile and slinks into the closest seat, not bothering to see who else is at the table until Professor Sinclair-Jones announces that that their seatmates will be their partners for the lab section. There's a low laugh next to her and Clary looks up to see her savior from last night, looking at her with a bright, evaluative gaze. "Hope you're good at science, Cinnamon, your cuteness will not save you if you tank my grade."

Clary flushes from a variety of emotions, ranging from lust to relief to defensiveness. She is admittedly taking this course primarily to get the gen ed out of the way, and give her a chance to practice scientific drawing, but she's an excellent student and she's never tanked someone's grade in her life. More importantly, this is not the reunion she'd been hoping for.

She tries her most charming smile as she pulls her notebook out of her bag. "We should exchange numbers so we can coordinate study times and labwork." And maybe booty calls, if Clary's lucky.

The other girl grins like she knows what Clary's thinking. "I'm Isabelle by the way, Isabelle Lightwood."

"Clary Fray," Clary responds, holding out her notebook for Isabelle to write down her number. She may have needed rescuing last night, but she didn't need any help to find Isabelle, and she's not going to need any to woo her either. Kickass lab skills, short skirts, and as much inappropriate use of biology terms as she can manage. She's so got this.


	2. Chapter 2

Over the past three weeks, Clary thought she had made great strides in proving herself to be both a competent lab partner and excellent girlfriend material.

So Isabelle turning to her on Monday morning with an oddly formal expression and addressing her as Clary instead of Cinnamon was enough to make her heart sink into her stomach.

"So, Clary," Isabelle starts, sitting so stiffly that Clary is sure she's resisting the urge to fidget. "I'm taking a photography class." Clary blinks, not having expected that end to the sentence, and not at all sure what it has to do with her or why Isabelle looks so uncomfortable. Isabelle wrinkles her nose and Clary bites back the urge to kiss it. "Other than choosing outfits that make everyone drool, I am not the artistic type. And now the Professor wants to me to photograph someone." She meets Clary's eyes with sudden boldness. "Naked."

Clary breathes in sharply, heart pounding in her chest. Isabelle is going to be the death of her and she can't bring herself to care. Clearly she owes Simon two gift baskets, even if he did manage several dates with Raphael out of that party and clearly didn't need her wingwoman skills. However excellent they might be.

"I could be persuaded to model," Clary says, her calm voice giving no hint of the tapdance she wants to break into. "What exactly would be involved?"

Isabelle smiles, slow and seductive. Clary has a hard time not blurting out her desire for them both to be naked right this second. As subject related as that might be, she doubts their professor would appreciate them getting it on in the middle of Biology class.

"It would be tasteful. Nothing," she pauses ever so briefly before drawing out the next word, riveting Clary's attention on her lips. "Pornographic." Her smile is blatantly flirtatious, but she lets it fade and briefly resumes a more serious demeanor. "And it wouldn't show your face, unless you wanted them too." She reaches out, lightly tugging on the end of Clary's ponytail, which has escaped over her shoulder again. "Although I can't imagine anyone not recognizing this."

She tilts her head to the side, looking at Clary like she's a piece of art, even though Isabelle's the most beautiful person Clary's ever seen. "As for persuasion, we have been given a small stipend we can provide to our models."

Clary shakes her head, feeling bold and bright, utterly invincible under Isabelle's appreciative regard. "No stipend. How about a date?"

"There might be some ethical concerns about relationships between artists and models," Isabelle says after a pause long enough to make Clary itch, then grins. "But I'm willing to ignore them if you are."

Clary can't stop her laugh, thankfully lost in the controlled chaos of lab day, and dares to reach for Isabel's hand, lacing their glove-covered fingers together. "Isabelle Lightwood, I would be happy to ignore all sorts of ethical concerns with you."


	3. Chapter 3

_Things got smuttier than expected, so fair warning. Also finally done!_

* * *

Isabelle is obsessed with Clary's hair, a long tongue of flame falling down her back. The curls bounce around her face, the color shifting in the light, as animate as the girl they belong to. She can't stop herself from reaching out, even though it hardly needs rearranging for the photographs.

Clary looks over her shoulder at the soft touch, her eyes bright and the barest curve of her mouth visible. Isabelle snaps a picture before she's even realized she's lifting the camera. She won't be able to use it, her other hand is in the shot, fingers tangled in Clary's curls, but she doesn't care.

She never understood when their teacher talked about inspiration and finding a muse and knowing the perfect moment. Not until now.

Taking a deep breath, she steps back, framing the shot more carefully as Clary watches her with an indefinable expression in her eyes. The other girl is sitting on a chair, completely naked in the bright sun filtering into the art building's attic studio. Her back is to Isabelle, her torso shifted ever so slightly to the side to reveal the gentle curve of her breast. Her arms are draped over the chair's back, her chin hidden behind her shoulder, revealing only one alluring dimple and the barest hint of her pink lips.

And that hair, that splendid hair, is tumbling down to her waist, glinting in the warm light drifting down from the high windows.

It's a good thing Clary proposed a date in trade, because Isabelle's ability to be professional around her is nonexistent. But she needs an A in this class, so she resists every urge to touch that hair, or the creamy skin beneath it, and does her best to let the camera see Clary how Isabelle sees her.

When she's taken enough pictures—more than enough, most of which will not be shared with her professor or anyone else—Isabelle sets the camera down and approaches the other girl with all the reverence her devout mother shows at mass. She tangles her fingers into those glorious red curls, soft strands winding around her fingers as she pushes them away from the soft skin beneath. She presses her lips to the crook between Clary's neck and shoulder and hums in satisfaction when the other girl's breath catches in her throat.

Isabelle sinks to her knees, trailing kisses down Clary's spine, releasing her hair so she can curve her hands around Clary's exposed hips, her thumbs resting perfectly in the dimples above her ass. Clary's breathing has quickened, the wooden chair creaking as she shifts beneaths Isabelle's hands. She turns, no longer straddling the back of the chair, and Isabelle drags her gaze slowly up Clary's calves, the gilded v between her legs, and her perfect breasts, before meeting the other girl's eyes, hunger in that vibrant blue gaze to match her own.

Clary's teeth are sunk into her bottom lip, but she releases it as she smiles, slow and sweet, before spreading her legs in open invitation. It is all Isabelle can do to hold back a moan as she leans forward, her hands curling around Clary's knees as she presses hot, open-mouthed kisses to the inside of Clary's thighs. She pauses, hovering over the glistening prize of Clary's vulva, until Clary slips her hands into Isabelle's hair, her hips twitching with need.

Isabelle laughs, glad all over again that she'd bumped into the redhead at the party last month, and closes the distance between them, sliding her tongue over the exposed lips of Clary's labia and savoring every moan and gasp she coaxes out of the girl.

This is the true work of art, the taste, smell, and feel of Clary's sex, the way she writhes beneaths Isabelle's mouth, the delicate edge of pain on her scalp as Clary's hands clench with need and pleasure.

When she has wrung a second orgasm from her, Clary pushes her down onto the floor, swallowing Isabelle's giddy laugh as she presses their mouths together, heedless of the slick wetness of herself on Isabelle's face. Her hands attack Isabelle's clothes, seeking out the soft curves of her breasts, pinching the sensitive peaks of her nipples before delving lower, her thumb finding Isabelle's clit before she's even caught her breath.

They stay there for an hour, nothing but sensation and sound and shadows in the fading sunlight, until Isabelle's alarm goes off, alerting her that their allotted time in the studio is coming to an end and they need to get dressed if they don't want the next student to get some unwitting inspiration of their own.

Clary twines their hands together, after they are cleaned up and clothed, and grins as she pulls Isabelle down the stairs. "Come on, I want to see the pictures."

Isabelle nods, squeezing her fingers, pleasantly sore and already eager to see more of Clary, on or off film. "I'm all yours, Cinnamon."


End file.
